


a problem

by okayantigone



Series: baby faced demon - indreil stories [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Gen, Indreil, M/M, the fic that started it all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 10:23:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11355513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: Ichirou Moriyama's main seduction methods involve murder, mostly, but he's trying. Neil is charmed.





	a problem

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is the fic that started it all - I take full credit for the rise of this ship in the fandom hah! All the fanart, and other fanfics in the year since I first posted this story on tumblr have been amazing, and I'm finally putting on AO3 as well. More Indreil! More Indreil, I say!

“May I?” Ichirou asks. It’s actually a question, and his polite quiet voice is level, waiting for Neil to indicate. Yes or no. His hand is resting on Neil’s knee. Not with pressure or a heaviness, but like a question mark. May I? 

He must have waited a beat too long because Ichirou moves his hand away, as though the touch had never happened. Your father was someone to me. Neil can almost imagine it, who else would have been a match for Lord Moriyama? A dangerous child and his dangerous toy soldiers. 

He studies Ichirou’s handsome young face, searching for something, anything. 

“I am with someone, right now.” He says finally, though he’s not been asked for an explanation. 

“I understand,” says Ichirou. A pause. “I can respect that.” His hand, firmly clasped around his ankle.This is nothing, Andrew says in Neil’s head. It’s everything. 

“I will speak with Kevin and Jean,” Neil says. Ichirou nods. His undivided attention is on something else entirely. Neil feels the cold unspoken dismissal even before Ichirou tells him to leave. 

“I think,” he begins.

“Oh no,” Andrew says.

“I think,” he says, more persistently, “that Ichirou Moriyama is trying to date me." 

Andrew chokes on his cigarette. Neil is deliberately not looking at him. 

"And what did you tell him?” Andrew asks. His voice is hollow, like he expects Neil to tell him he and Ichirou are having a June wedding and he’s not invited. 

“I told him I’m seeing someone else.” Neil says softly, and drags his eyes to Andrew’s carefully blank face. “Because I am." 

Something in Andrew uncoils. "Just like that?” He asks. 

Neil nods. “Just like that.” Andrew breathes. His breath is on Neil’s lips. 

“Yes or -”

“Yes,” Neil murmurs halfway into the kiss already. “Yes." 

Ichirou takes a private moment to mourn the brother he never knew, brushing a thumb over the neat number one on a sharp chiseled cheekbone, trailing the slope of it, which he knows well from his own face, where his thumb rests every morning when he shaves. 

"Ichirou- " 

It would have been nice to have a brother. But it is not the Moriyama way. There cannot be two kings. And Ichirou Moriyama is king. The shot rings hollow in his chest, the kick from the gun rattles him, familiar and heavy. He can do this at least - he can afford Riko - his brother who is dead - the honor of executing him personally. No one who matters will ever know this. No one who matters will ever know that Riko was not a coward. Nathaniel Wesninski - no, Neil Josten is looking on, impassive and disinterested. Ichirou imagines if he were to dispatch Riko, it would have been a lot messier. He barely acknowledges his uncle. He’d fancied once, as a child, that he might have enjoyed having an uncle. Good thing he’s grown up now. For all his shortcomings -and he is not too blinded by his grief to admit that there were plenty- Kengo Moriyama had been a good father to him. Largely absent, but on the rare occasions that he had been there, a man who raised neither his hand nor his voice to the only son he could acknowledge. Ichirou imagines, that were he to have picked up a sport, his father would have made the effort to come to at least some of his games. In his heart of hearts he knows that this isn’t the case. It was a childish fancy he’s allowed Riko instead. Things were split evenly between the Moriyama brothers. No one of any consequence would ever know that. He looks at his uncle and feels nothing but disgust for him. 

"Are you satisfied?" 

Nathan’s son, silent and impassive, parts his lips to speak. He is. And that, Ichirou thinks, that is a good thing. He studies him, pensively. 

"I saw you speak to your uncle today. Before the game.” He says, conversationally. 

“I was arranging something,” Neil says. “One of the doctors that Riko bought off." 

Ichirou tilts his head to the side. Neil, who is seeing someone. 

"You don’t need to trouble Stuart Hatford with this.” Ichirou says. “I will clean up Riko’s mess." 

Neil’s smile looks like Nathan’s smile. 

"I suppose,” he says, carefully measuring his words, “I couldn’t make a request of you … Regarding that?" 

"It depends,” Ichirou says. 

Nathan’s son who had asked Ichirou for only one thing so far was making a second request. But Ichirou was not unkind. Nathan’s smile widens on Neil’s face. 

“I am convinced,” Neil says.

“Oh no,” Andrew says. 

“that Ichirou Moriyama is trying to date me." 

"Yes,” says Andrew acerbically. “The trail of corpses proves it." 

"One corpse.” Says Neil. “But I am still seeing someone." 

He takes Andrew’s cigarette from between his fingers and breathes in deeply. 

"Yes or no?” He asks. Andrew meets him halfway. 

“Yes." 

The envelope is unmarked, unnamed. A regular brown A4 envelope, just sitting there. On the table of their suite. Waiting. Neil picks it up. Weighs it. Opens it. The crime scene photos that spill out are plenty, and gruesome and bloody. Andrew walks in behind him, headed for the coffee maker after a brutal practice where Kevin had ran them into the ground, and stops in his tracks, eyes drawn to the mess. 

"That’s him,” he says when he manages to drag his eyes to Neil’s face. “That’s Proust." 

Neil is trying to keep his face blank but a smile fights it’s way to his lips anyway and slices across his face. 

"Good." 

"Did you do this?” Andrew gestures to the pictures. His eyes keep darting to them, and he keeps bringing them to Neil’s face. 

“No.” Neil says. “But I asked for it." 

"Yeah,” says Andrew. His voice has an edge of cold humor to it. “That’s how these things happen with you always, isn’t it? You ask." 

"It’s safe to say,” Neil says, putting the pictures carefully in the envelope, “that Ichirou Moriyama is now trying to date you as well." 

"Most people would just buy you a drink." 

"Is that what you were doing all these nights at Eden’s?” Andrew almost smiles. Almost. To Neil that’s worth the sun. Andrew takes the envelope from him, without touching his fingers. 

“I’ll hold on to these.” He says. “If you don’t mind." 

Neil shrugs. 

"They’re yours." 

It’s some weeks after that they finally manage to settle down enough form the press reeling in the wake of Riko’s suicide to have a weekend in Columbia. Nicky went ahead to park the car, Andrew Neil, Aaron and Kevin poured into the club, and the flashing lights and thumping music encased them. While Aaron and Kevin looked for a table, Andrew made a beeline for the bar. Neil followed. Following Andrew was easier than breathing. Roland greeted them at the bar with a knowing smile that even Andrew’s withering look couldn’t wipe away. When they went for the second round, his smile was even wider. 

"Complements of someone in the VIP section.” He said. His voice had the same tone it had when he’d suggested padded handcuffs. Andrew bristled. 

“Who?” He demanded. 

One of his arms disappeared behind the counter. Neil could feel him fingering his knives. Roland didn’t miss it. 

“Some rich guy. He’s been around a few times. Sits upstairs, orders a few sodas and then leaves." 

"Does he have a name?” Roland shrugged. 

“No one I’ve seen before. Maybe he’s a fan of yours." 

"Yeah.” Said Andrew. His voice was caustic. “Well. Let’s go see him then. Thank him for the drinks." 

Neil’s fingers hovered an inch from Andrew’s wrist. The place was far too public for murder. They ascended the steps to the much less densely populated second floor. It wasn’t hard for Neil’s eyes to land on Ichirou, seated on one of the leather couches, one leg crossed over the other, an untouched glass in front of him. Two men in inconspicuous black clothing stood ramrod straight behind him. The young king and his Knights. 

"Lord Moriyama,” said Neil cautiously polite. 

“I think we’re a little past that. Don’t you?” He sounded amused. 

With a flick of his wrist he set the phone he’d been typing on screen down on the table and stood up. 

“I’m Ichirou Moriyama,” he introduced himself, speaking to Andrew, his undivided attention channeled into him, his hand easily extended for a handshake. Andrew looked at him with stone cold disinterest, first at his face, meeting his gaze unflinching, and then down at his hand, pointedly, eyebrows raised. Ichirou let his hand drop easily as though he’d ever made the gesture. The full force of Andrew’s indifference was devastating. 

“I know exactly who you are.” Andrew said, finally. And I am not afraid of you, was the unspoken second part of that statement. For a brief bright moment Neil sympathized with Wymack for all the times he’d deliberately antagonized Riko. At the same time, Andrew hadn’t even started to be antagonistic yet. 

“Would you have a seat?” Ichirou asked. Once again, Neil was left with the distinct feeling that this was a question, not an order. He turned to Andrew. 

“Would we?” Andrew, untouchable behind the vast stone wall of his indifference dragged the full force of his dismissal to studying the seat across Ichirou and then took it’d gracelessly slumping across the arm of the couch, his eyes boring holes into the other man’s expensive charcoal suit. Neil sat next to him, hand still hovering over Andrew’s arm. From this distance, Andrew could easily throw a knife before either bodyguard could react. Of course, neither bodyguard knew Andrew was armed. Probably. 

“What is this, exactly?” Neil dared ask when the silence had become unbearably loud. 

“I believe it’s what some people might refer to as a social call.” Said Ichirou. 

“Are you some people?” Asked Andrew. “You are not some people,” he concluded for himself. 

Ichirou’s lips twitched in a smile. “Neither are you." 

I am seeing someone, Neil had said in gentle rebuttal to his advances. If this was his someone - Ichirou felt himself being appraised and then swiftly dismissed and thought to himself, "This could be a problem.” He allowed himself to smile. 

“Will you let me buy you a drink?” he asked. 

Neil’s eyes turned to Andrew again. Ichirou observed their silent exchange, and missed Nathan with a hollow ache in his chest, so fierce it made him reach for his untouched drink to silence the roar of grief that threatened to overwhelm him. He was always missing things these days. A father figure, a brother, an uncle, an entire exy team, a hobby, a lover. He didn’t like it very much. He didn’t like it at all. 

“Fine.” Said Andrew. 

“Fine,” said Neil. 

Ichirou motioned sharply to be serviced. Andrew eyed his drink, reached and took it, taking a sizeable sip. 

“That goes down smooth,” he commented. 

Ichirou’s smile made a brief reappearance on his face. His father had been fond of the same brand of scotch, though in his final days he’d preferred the more familiar tastes of imported sake. Drinks made an appearance at their table. Andrew didn’t take his own, alternating between sipping from Ichirou and Neil’s.

"I didn’t have a chance to thank you for the pictures,“ he said, finally. 

"Don’t mention it.” Said Ichirou easily. The underlying message was clear: literally don’t mention it. 

“So they were for me,” said Andrew. 

Ichirou tilted his head to the side, studying him carefully, as if there was something in him to decipher. Andrew was not enjoying the scrutiny. Ichirou turned his attention to Neil. 

“Yes,” he said. “They were for you. I already gave Neil his gift." 

His arm trembled with phantom tremors of the gun’s kick. He felt hollowed out. Like maybe this wasn’t worth it. 

"So you’ve been coming here, waiting for a - social call?” Said Andrew, amused. 

Neil’s discomfort beside him was palpable. 

“Yes. I’m afraid I’ve become somewhat of a regular. I think the bartender downstairs likes me." 

"Roland likes everyone. He especially likes men with rolexes who leave five hundred dollar tips." 

"Ah,” said Ichirou. “And what do you like?" 

Andrew considered him. Neil looked about ready to have a panic attack. 

"Not much in particular.” Andrew said. It surprised another smile out of Ichirou. 

Andrew was beginning to feel like this man was fighting tooth and nail not to be smiling very much at all. He resented that he might be amusing to him. He refused to consider he might be interesting. 

Ichirou was studying the space between Neil’s fingers and Andrew’s hand, a no-touch so carefully orchestrated it could be nothing but deliberate. No touching then. Noted. Ichirou Moriyama didn’t have time to date a single person, was not equipped to date a single person. He could hardly even consider dating two. He hadn’t had to consider dating anyone for a very long time, used to having his bed warmed by uncomplicatedly handsome young men whose mouths were kept shut with generous tips to their usual fare. 

This, Ichirou thought, could be a challenge. His sexuality was a carefully unspoken length of distance added to the quiet chasm between him and Kengo. A private disappointment his father never voiced, because he had vowed to let Ichirou be his own man. The silences of it stung him, as Kengo Moriyama’s silences often did.

“Will you let me come to one of your games?” He asked, focused on the gentle distance between Neil and Andrew’s hands. It contained more warmth and intimacy that he’d felt in his entire life. 

“You don’t need permission to watch a sport,” Andrew said. 

“No,” Ichirou agreed. “I don’t need permission to do many things.” But I’m asking now, he didn’t say. I’m asking now, and I know you know what that means because I’ve never had to ask before. 

“When you came to your brother’s game for the first time, he ended up dead,” Neil remarked with a quiet calm in him that betrayed an anxiety Ichirou had never felt in Nathan. Nathan had been many things, but not anxious. Never that.

"When I came to your game for the first time I have you a gift,“ Ichirou corrected quietly. 

A moment to mourn is what he allowed himself. A moment for his father who had loved him in the same private quiet way in which he’d been disappointed in him. A moment to mourn a man who had been his lover and his teacher and then a traitor. A moment to mourn his brother whom he would never know. A moment. He didn’t have more than that. 

"You’ve already given me a gift,” Andrew pointed out. "Without coming to my game.“ 

Check. 

"That was my pleasure.” Ichirou said. 

“Was it?” Andrew challenged. 

“Intimately so.”

Ah, thought Neil. There had been something familiar in the photos that he’d refused to recognize out of childish stubborness. Your father was someone to me. 

“I don’t mind.” Neil said. 

“Excuse me?”

“You. At our game. I don’t mind." 

Andrew looked at him. Then he looked at Ichirou. His cold unflinching dismissal had turned into an open challenge. 

Ichirou knew, without a shadow of a doubt that if he hadn’t taken care of Riko, Andrew would have done so, and then he would have arranged a quiet accident for Proust. Maybe he had already been planning it. Maybe.

His life would be infinitely easier if he just sent out one of the bodyguards to ask when Roland’s shift would be over. Ichirou was tired of easy. 

"I’ll cheer you on,” he stood up, straightening some invisible creases in his suit.

When Andrew and Neil returned to their table downstairs Nicky was frantic. 

“I looked for you guys, where were you?" 

"Busy,” said Neil at the same time as Andrew who said “On a first date." 

"What?” Said Nicky. 

Neil just aimed his eyes at his shoes. 

“I think,” said Andrew.

“Oh no,” said Aaron.

“That we-” here he indicated at himself and Neil, “are being very persistently seduced." 

Neil winced. 

"No,” said Aaron, decisively, and left the table, presumably to drink at the bar.

"Who is seducing you two?“ Kevin asked skeptically. 

Andrew radiated triumph. "Ichirou Moriyama." 

Ichirou came to their game. He sat with his inconspicuous bodyguards, followed the flow of the game, clapped and cheered as appropriate and then left when it was over. He was leaning against his car, waiting, when the team was coming out of the changing rooms, looking idly at the crowds, as people moved fluidly around him, seeing him for a moment and hen forgetting. There was an art to radiating power that made people walk around you without even seeing you. He moved like he was letting out a held breath when he saw them. He straightened. He waited. When Andrew purposefully didn’t change trajectory, or so much as glance at his direction, Neil looked. Ichirou met his eyes and raised his shoulders gracefully, as if he’d expected nothing else. He got in his car. 

"Oh,” said Aaron. “You have got to be kidding me." 

The object of his obvious displeasure was a rather large arrangement of floating orange helium balloons, held together with tasteful black ribbon and a card. 

Thank you for a wonderful game. - I 

"Oh,” said Neil, and handed the card to Andrew. 

“This was here before the game started,” Andrew noted. 

“I can’t believe this,” said Neil. He could. He just refused to. 

“Wait,” said Kevin, and snatched the note. “There’s more-" 

On the other side of the thick creamy paper was a string of elegantly scrawled numbers. 

"No,” said Kevin, holding the note away. 

The whole thing had him alternating between anger and panic and he’d clearly chosen which one he’d be channeling.

Andrew was unimpressed. He kicked Neil in the shin, and when that brought him down, snatched the car from him. 

“He’s given us his number.” Andrew said. 

“Yes,” said Neil. It was a fact as irrefutable as the tasteful balloon arrangement. 

“We are being seduced,” said Andrew. “Persistently." 

"Are you feeling seduced?” asked Neil.

“I am feeling interested,” said Andrew. “Are you?" 

Yes. It burned at the back of his tongue, like Ichirou’s hand on his knee in the car the first time they met. He swallowed. 

"Yes." 

Andrew’s smile was sharp, glinting like a knife. 

"What,” he said suddenly cheerful, “is the worst that can happen?" 

That night Neil added someone other than Andrew to his list of outgoing calls.


End file.
